The Memories We Keep
by triangulated
Summary: There are days when the missing isn't so bad – days when not every autumnal leaf reminds him of her hair, when not every blade of glass prompts images of her eyes. Snape/Lily


The Memories We Keep

There are days when the missing isn't so bad – days when not every autumnal leaf reminds him of her hair, when not every blade of grass prompts images of her eyes.

In the mornings, he wakes up and tries to forget. Keeps his mind as blank as possible while he brushes his teeth, combs his hair, and irons his robes. He could do this all magically, of course, but in the morning he needs something to do, something to keep himself from falling apart.

Sometimes he stares at himself in the mirror and marvels at how his already pale face has gained that ghastly pallor, at how dark circles and lines have appeared, deeply etched, on his face.

_Has it just been a year? _He sometimes asks himself.

A year passes, and then two, and then three. He tries to stop counting. When her birthday and death day pass, he tries not to observe them. He keeps busier on these days, as though pausing for breath will drive him to ruin.

The days are bearable – the endless stream of students, giggling and fidgety in their sloppy robes, twirling and chewing on their ratty quills. There is always movement to distract him when they are there. He chastises them and knows that they speak of him behind his back, calling him all sorts of malicious names.

And how could they not?

He knows that he is not as naturally firm as Minerva, and certainly not as ethereal as Sybill, whom the girls seem to take a particular shining to. He is not pleasant in the way that Pomona Spout is, either. He listens to the things that they call him – _greasy old crank, do you think he even washes his hair? - _ and it brings back a twinge of nostalgia, even, for the days of that damned James Potter and his group of friends following him around, cawing, "Snivellus!" in his direction.

He never thought that anything could pain him more than seeing her end up with Potter, and he wishes that he hadn't been wrong.

The years pass, slowly. He ages and becomes – if not more pleasant – then at least surer of how he presents himself. He stops feeling uncomfortable or guilty when chastising his students. When he looks in the mirror (an act he avoids when he can), he is surprised at how impassive and intimidating he can appear. The whispers behind his back at the faculty table – _too hard on the students; what do you think he has stuck up his arse, anyway? - _ cease to perturb him. He has become a fixture at the school.

And besides, he has a new role to distract him – he now spies on the Dark Lord.

The job is dangerous, but what else does he have to lose? The first year, he almost cannot overcome his desire to kill Voldemort every time he is in his proximity, to tear apart every Death Eater with his bare hands.

"You must not let your emotions get the best of you," Albus had warned him one night when he returned, shaking, little crescents of blood on his palms from clenching his fists so tightly. "It would be doing Lily's memory a disservice."

In time, he even enjoys it. In his weaker moments, he allows himself to converse with Lily in his head, to tell her of his dangerous missions and subterfuge, and how he is doing all this to avenge her death. And –though he would never admit it – he feels closer to her when he is near Voldemort, the last being who saw her alive.

He tries not to think about the boy, of how he is growing older by the day and will be of school age soon. Albus reminds him gently sometimes that he will have to assist in protecting the boy when the time comes. The year before the boy starts school, Severus wakes up periodically in a cold sweat from a dream that begins with James Potter sitting at the front of his classroom and ends with a flash of green light. He is afraid that the boy will look like his father, and then is afraid that the boy will look like his mother.

"He has her eyes," Abus had told him, no doubt in an attempt to warm him towards the boy.

When he does finally see the boy, strolling through the Great Hall with his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, he is struck by his eyes, and how long it has been since he's seen Lily's. And in the next moment, he is struck by a deep resentment towards the boy that surprises even him. He hates him for being alive when she is gone. He hates him for being a product of her love with James.

And yet, he knows that he will protect him, will even die for him if it comes down to it – because that is what Lily would have wanted.

The boy is terrible and brash and has moments where he looks just like James. At other moments, Severus will catch, unprepared, a glimpse of his eyes, and the reminder of her sears him. The boy runs through the hallways with his equally terrible friends, and each time he looks at him, it is like a wound being reopened. He cannot forget when this living, breathing reminder crashes into him with such frequency. He cannot help but think, sometimes, that the boy does not deserve to be alive. That her sacrifice was not worth it.

The years go by, as always. The Dark Lord begins to rise in power, and strangely enough, he is not afraid. He realized that he stopped being afraid a long time ago - the first part was when she married James, and the second was when she ceased to exist. He finds that he can go about his day, knowing that if he is found out, Voldemort will surely ensure a painful, twisted death, and the thought does not bother him in the least.

The boy grows up, first into a gangly adolescent and then into a young man. Severus watches as he stumbles his way through his destiny, growing into a greatness that he did not choose for himself. He sees the pride and tenderness in Albus' eyes when he looks at him. He himself feels sorry for the boy sometimes and even has the urge to reach out to him.

But then, that familiar bravado, the stinging look of disdain when the boy sits in his classroom, staring back at him in defiance. Even his eyes cannot keep Severus from thinking _James_ every time he sees him. James who would push him and spill his ink deliberately in class. James who danced with Lily at the end of the year dance their seventh year, her lips brushing against his neck as she leaned into him.

He starts to suffer from headaches that keep him up at night. Poppy gives him an elixir and says that it must be from the stress. She doesn't ask what is on his mind, and sometimes he thinks that she must know what he does when he is not at Hogwarts. She sees him come back in the middle of the night, his hands bloodied, his face ashen. She sees Albus come into the Hospital Wing to speak with him in hushed tones. But still, she says nothing, and he is grateful.

When he does nod off to sleep, his head and joints aching, an old memory resurfaces, again and again. He runs into Lily a year after graduation in Diagon Alley, and she is radiant, fluttering about preparing for her wedding. He feels the rush of blood to his face, the tightness of his chest as she holds out her hand bashfully to show off the modest diamond ring on her finger.

"It just seems so surreal," she says, eyes sparkling. He smiles back at her even though he feels sick.

"Where's Potter?" he asks, looking around, paranoid that her pompous fiancé will pop out at any moment and shoot some juvenile curse at him.

"Oh, he's off on some thing with the rest of the boys," she rolls her eyes and laughs. "Stag night, you know. I'm just picking up some of the loose ends for the wedding, knick knacks and whatnot."

He offers to join her and she exclaims that she'd love to have him along. They walk through Diagon Alley and he watches her pick out flowers, napkins, and other various little trinkets for the wedding.

One moment, in particular – she stands in the doorway of a shop that sells candles, and the light hits the side of her face so that her hair looks like it is on fire. She turns slowly, catches his gaze and her lips raise in a smile, just for him. "Thanks for keeping me company, Sev," she says. She's the only person who calls him that. "It's very sweet of you."

They stop at Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor and sit outside, eating obscenely large scoops of chocolate ice cream from waffle cones and chat about his potions studies and how he wants to be a professor.

"You'll make a great one, Sev."

"The little brats will probably all despise me."

"No, I mean it," she says, turning to face him. The earnestness in her eyes takes his breath away. "I think you'll be brilliant. You're smart and you care about the subject, and any bright student will appreciate that."

He looks away, uncomfortable yet pleased with her praise. After they finish their cones, she tells him that she must be off and gives him a hug, which he returns gingerly.

It is the last time that he ever sees Lily Evans. The next time he sees her, she is Lily Potter. And then – she is nothing.

He wakes up from this memory with a lump in his throat and always wishes that he could go back to sleep. In some ways, the recurrence of the dream is a blessing. He wants to live in the dream.

The rise of Voldemort continues. The boy hates him, now. They glower when they pass each other in the hallways. He was saved by his mother's love. Why hadn't Severus' love saved Lily? Wasn't it just as great?

The Dark Lord trusts him. Albus trusts him. One day, Albus asks him a great favor, and Severus, weary, agrees. He does not want the Malfoy boy to have blood on his hands. And between the two of them, the Malfoy boy at least still has a future ahead of him. Severus has nothing left. And he will do what the headmaster asks of him.

When he kills Albus Dumbledore, he sees the boy rush at him and the animal rage in his eyes. He wants to tell him that he knows what it feels like to want to tear apart the person who killed someone you loved. But instead, he flees.

The war comes quickly after that. He stands by Voldemort and hopes every day, secretly, that the boy is alive. If he is able to vanquish the Dark Lord, then Lily's death will have been, if not fair, in some way justified. He stands by and watches with false sympathy as Voldemort winces each time a Horcrux is found. Good, he thinks. Make his death slow and in many parts. He deserves to die little by little.

He knows before it happens that Voldemort will kill him. He prepares for it meticulously, arranging his robes and cleaning his quarters before he leaves each day. All his personal documents are stored in his desk, left with a note that states "Care of Minerva McGonagall." He trusts her to take care of things properly.

When the snake bites him and the searing pain hits him, he crumples. He knows that the boy is watching and hopes that he will understand and forgive him for Albus' death. The bite on his neck feels like a knife laced with poison slicing at him repeatedly. He feels his limbs begin to stiffen. Through the haze of pain, he feels himself sliding back into that old memory - a sunny day spent at Diagon Alley, flashing green eyes and laughter like bells.

He hopes that this time, he will be able to stay there.


End file.
